


Acedia, Waiting for Dawn

by Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness



Series: Notebook of Originals [1]
Category: Durarara!!, Fiction Meets Fanfiction, Mashup - Fandom, Original Work, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: AU, Durarara!! - Freeform, Fiction x Fanfiction, M/M, Mashup, Multi, Supernatural - Freeform, Vampire Chronicles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness/pseuds/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness
Summary: That single k i s s before everything plunged into darkness. Or is it merely a new light? When urges strongly denied have been accepted, new things are born. Before dawn.





	Acedia, Waiting for Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is basically an experimental fiction meets fanfiction one-shot I'd written about three years ago. I had mashed in a DRRR!! tribute AU with one of my original story concepts and the Vampire Chronicles while I was reading all three one afternoon.  
> I maybe was too bored that day. I remember my doctor's appointment just started the week before that. Okay maybe I was just desperately trying to alleviate my nervousness. I do recall hearing the bad news a couple of days after this story was born. ^__^"  
> Anywho, this basically is just following up on the "Izaya is a Vampire, Shizuo is a Vampire Hunter" craze of then. I don't actually know where to put it without losing the formatting so I tossed it here.

The Brat Prince looked at him like he was an oddity amongst the preternatural. So these new fledglings actually had the gift of wings? How ironic. Yet how delightful. Unlike _him_ , already near-becoming one amongst the Children of the Millennia, these new, _grotesque_ beauties _of the Damned_ have been blessed with actual sinews for flight. What the hell does Pandemonium plan to concoct next?

 _He_ suddenly wanted to ask the other _vampire_ if he actually had a tail to go with the rest of his bat-like features, reminiscent of the devils in what others portray as hailing from that of Dante’s _Inferno_. Before _he_ dismissed the notion with a rather disarming grin and slowly broke into wanton laughter.

It took the other aback rather, but he flinched only by a bit, swallowed hard his sudden surprise, quick to close his heart and mind though he need not have. The _powers_ of the _Ancient One_ before him had already been sharpened by both death and time, cold upon endless cold, of having seen miracles and having them destroyed before his very eyes.

 _He_ has seen the dwindle of affection, only to be rekindled in some way, only to once again lose it in the light of this ever-changing, superfluous world, within mortals where they drown themselves in, hiding in the shadows of their own unofficial rules and laws.

But not this one.

He is young. He is yet to learn the path of destruction vampires like themselves tread. The _Devil_ _’_ _s Road_ where one will eventually fall into either apathy or madness. Or will live, as he had become for all eternity, to be the _gods_ of their own pride and _existence_.

“Tell me your name,” the older vampire urged the young one, with a seductive smile now playing on his lips, the kind that apparently drew his victims to him if ever he still did have any, the simple trick that now drew the _guest_ to him apparently.

His accent was also non-exempt. It was barely noticeable, but it had a tinge of sharpness with it, and a manner of gentleness, like a crooning lover’s slur and tone. European. _He_ must have come from those lands where the legends of the Undead walk free amongst men in the night, where the image of death was sought for, beloved even and welcomed. The Older One _did not_ look like it. But by the strength of his stand and the smoothness of his skin, he was very, _very_ ancient...perhaps one of those who have now become myth, who had the power to burn fledglings like himself (though he was already some years and inherently powerful due the blood given him when he was _transformed_ ) to ash and cinders with merely a concentrated stare.

“Izaya. Izaya Orihara,” replied _his_ guest, but cautiously as he appeared not to trust this other unworldly _fiend_ before him. What if he were not so amiable? The vampire of _Shinjuku_ , in the very depths of himself, feared, albeit he tried conceal it still.

It was the Older One’s turn to observe. Besides the name, basing likewise on the flow of the young one’s own words, he was an Asian. He came from the side of the seas, someplace where the sun could rise on endlessly, kissing the green and mountains and the people who worship it and its splendid light. And indeed, he could see those memories past, can sneak into the hidden crevices of this younger vampire’s mind and take his pick of the histories in his life. And then there it is, the truth _why_ the other was here.

“Shizuo...so that _is_ your reason? ” said the _Brat Prince_ , only to watch his guest’s reaction change from subtle to shock, before those lovely blood brown eyes swooped down with his scowl, a glare of ice and daggers, fists clenching unconsciously in some form of control.

The _Ancient_ had struck a cord in the other’s being.

Earlier in his wanderings, the older vampire had met what people called a Hunter in this day and age, a Stalker of Revenants, an Assassin of the Undead, a spile upon all things created by the preternatural. The sort that styled himself as a  priest and as a titan of justice so that the rest of the populace cannot be fed upon by the gluttony of the corrupt demons that meander forever in darkness.

This said Hunter was strong. Not just in will and courage but in a physically impossible way, his abilities though lacking the fine-tuning and polish, able to impress _him_ that he had considered it worthy to make him into what _he_ was when he had caught the mortal. But that was before he had found out the little secrets the said youth hid behind his rather _gorgeous_ face...

The Damnedest Creature _he_ might be, but he understood how life was for _that Hunter_ when he had tasted but the tiniest sip of his virgin blood. He understood why he pursued, why he fought, why he had don this calling. He also understood that the mortal was actually confused, in love with this seething being now standing before him, the same who was silently imploring to be given back the mortal of whom his existence could not be without.

The _Brat Prince_ laughed again, his enchantingly erotic voice, the very same that held sway to millions of fans across the globe once in a rock star’s lifetime before, echoing sensually through the vast expanse of the dead mansion.

“You really wish to see the one who had attempted on your life? Do you not know that he _intends_ to _kill_ you?”

The younger vampire accepted this to be true, but there was more to it than he could ever hope to confess. Although as he stared at the more powerful of them, he readily accepted his defeat, allowing the Older One’s probing power to render him open, quietly conceding, knowing that if he denied such, he could still be easily broken, even without the man having to lift a finger.

“Yes,” said the vampire Izaya.

“And why?”

“I want him.”

That was a straight response to a question that would otherwise be the beginning of a lengthier conversation and much discussion than the Brat Prince would have wanted. He was royally intrigued. But then he knew how this one did not have time. The sun would rise and like all the new brood he would have to sleep. His limbs would fall and fail. And this new bud just blossomed from a peculiar and rather _special_ vine entwined with all others in the Savage Garden would wither away.

That would be a waste.

But he was so beautiful he could almost be a pet fitting a gilded cage and the seraphims that would sculpture the bars.

Izaya had done a sacrifice. To be so far away from the next closest hiding place. To be so utterly alone in his pursuit and worse...to come upon the mysterious abductor of his most cherished _bond_ in many years and to find out he could not defeat him. Not even by a long shot.

The _vampire_ before _him_ was Eternity himself in the form of a gentleman. He was death in branded clothes, in notable perfume, the sort that could dictate how the world evolved if he wanted to. And _this_ Izaya feared.

What if he lost _that person_ to this irrefutable monster? What if Heiwajima Shizuo died here?...What if he was already dead?

The Brat Prince had to laugh again, deliciously, at that.

“Do you think I’d harm him? I am not the sort young one,” he said, which served to calm the sudden dread that had infected the other’s lovely features. He was a rather effeminate charmer, this winged child. But then it was far from through. There was still time for the ever loved and as much hated Rule-Breaker to amuse himself.

He vanished. In a flash so sudden, Izaya had lost sight of the vampire before him and he nearly panicked. No visible trace, not even the smallest inkling of his presence as if _he_ had dissolved into thin air as the vapor would. But then he just felt it, an arm that had wound itself around his back to pin his wings as the hand snaked to grasp tightly like a noose around his throat, the other easily taking both his wrists captive.

“What-”

Then Izaya found himself unable to speak, his words coming out from within his throat without sound as if the capability for speech had been plucked from him. The Brat Prince leaned in. He had but the barest of satisfied smiles as he gently bent in to smell at his captive’s hair.

The vampire of Shinjuku dared not move. He was indeed strong, this Ancient, holding him there with the slightest of efforts yet Izaya could still feel the sting of such a grip, the immovability of steel and stone and even beyond those things. _His_ hands were not flesh anymore. They were of a substance which disguised itself as skin but were no longer like so. The idea was frightening.

“Don’t be afraid, _Isaiah_ , ” crooned the older vampire. “All vampires become this with time. You shall know when you have lived your share of a hundred or so years. When you have lived through all manner of pain and torment possible to _our kind_.”

Then he moved to kiss the stunned fledgling, although lightly, the kiss beyond frozen cold passing from lips as soft as rose petals. Likewise the words that had ensued right after the affectionate gesture, blowing like a fierce wind that shamed the night.

“Beware your own loneliness. It is a sword that can cut you as you wield it. And remember that the worst death you may experience is one where you see those you love grow old and die before your eyes...”

Izaya paused. He did not understand what the other meant by this. But as he stared at those eyes, at the gray there that seemed to eerily catch every shade and intensity of blue and violet in spectrum, he marveled at the infinity of secrets that lay behind the being’s thoughts. As he saw for himself a brief history allowed by this ever-pressing, ever-curious, ever-lamenting Ancient, he finally began to comprehend.

He thought of Shizuo.

“He will _never_ forgive me,”the younger vampire was allowed to find the words at last. But as he thought of an act so violent, he despaired.

“But you desire it?”

“I _cannot_ force him.”

“But it is the _only_ way.”

This being has known it all along, what Izaya’s little black heart was wanting, was pining away for; a need so deep that it was a transgression to his very existence. He had waited for a being such as Shizuo Heiwajima all these years, though in wake of the relationship they had immediately formed, as the hunter and the hunted, he had dismissed this, but now saw it again ever clearly.

Yet why now? Was it indeed the time to take what he wanted and not give it back? Had he come to the proverbial bridge where there was no hope of return once he has crost it? And could the other willingly forgive it once Izaya acted upon his severe impulse to own him body and soul?

He wanted _his_ Shizu-chan all to himself. He would kill for him, die for him...he wanted him intensely that his very being trembled, his mind swooned, his heart skipped at the thought of possessing the hunter priest.

As Izaya pondered, the Brat Prince had released him, but only so he may direct him towards where the sunrise, a slow source of warmth and of death, had began to peek from within its concealing depths behind the other side of the world. Lovely, this sun, but they both no longer remembered when or, chose to not recall, the last time that they had seen the iridescent colors of daybreak, when the lazy night parted kindly for the light.

“Who are you?”

Izaya just had to ask. He wanted to know if this Ancient was friend or foe, if indeed he had not meant him or the other harm. The older vampire gave his back an easing touch, a graceful rub, and he could feel those fingertips examine closely his wings, as if to scrutinize its composition.

“I am Lelio,” replied the older of them. “I am the Wolf-killer.”

~*~

Where had _he_ taken him? Izaya wondered as he was gently led by a hand down into the lower bowels of the decrepit estate, where a curious, actual labyrinth existed, infested by rats and the scent of damp and grime, the sort of hole more fitting for murdered bodies and rotting city refuse and not for two finely-dressed vampires in their signature boots. This _Lelio_ persona had dragged his Shizu-chan here?

“It’s a safer place,” replied the voice of the being leading before him, as if reading the thoughts right out of him, and in fact, had. “It’s safer for _you_.”

It wasn’t as much of a preparation for the mortal Hunter as it was for this young, seemingly frail vampire he was now helping. Many times the Older One pulled him close, a casual yet sensual arm sliding around so as to guide the slender body out of potholes and puddles, cracks and some pitfalls, the area too shrank for flight or even levitation. Many times Izaya had to look into _his_ eyes, and discovered them to be even more enchanting in the dark, a pair of glistening feline jewels.

At last, after what seemed to be an eternity of dank and darkness, the two emerged through a secret causeway, bursting through a carved, reinforced door that would take incredible feats of strength to push open. But, lo, it moved aside easily for them both without anyone having done anything. Or was it that there was something, a subtle and unfelt influence. The younger vampire looked at the other. _Lelio_ had this unmistakable aura that spoke epic tales of dominance and control, a vampire familiar with his capabilities. Izaya felt small and mediocre by comparison. He couldn’t even reign on his own emotions.

“He’s here,” motioned the Ancient towards a four-poster that was lighted by a single candelabra, the candles’ collective light a fragile beacon compared to the overwhelming darkness. It seemed the gloom would just swallow them all up. The floor was not even visible.

“You have an hour before the sun comes full. If you convert him before that, you will have him forever before you bed,” whispered the Ancient, bending lower again, hands squeezing the young one’s shoulders but gently and not bruisingly. “I’ll have victims for you both by dusk. He will be hungry. Teach him to feed. He’ll be your fledgeling and his education will _forever_ be _your responsibility_.”

His responsibility.

Izaya just suddenly realized he had been left alone when he heard the heavy thud of the doors closing behind him, feeling the the cold shut out. There was a breeze somewhere but then this might be the thing keeping the other alive. He shivered. He was alone now, without distractions, and with Heiwajima Shizuo in the same room.

The vampire folded his wings close, moving quietly over to where his quarry lay among the sheets and pillows. He could smell his sweat, his blood, hear the beating in his mortal veins like drums in the evening, a peculiar sound, as he... _slept_ there quietly.

Had his Shizu-chan been bespelled?

As he sat beside him, a tiny shift in the surface of the bed, the vampire could not help but feel so overwhelmed. How beautiful this being looked under the infirmity of the candles’ illumination. How splendid his face and features, the tousled hair and the flesh exposed in many places. Wait. The Hunter was noticeably cleaner, dressed in a simple gown and smelt of roses, as if he had been prepared for an offering. Izaya’s thought drifted back to the face of the Ancient. Was _he_ the one who had done this?

It didn’t really matter. Shizuo was his and it did not serve to wait any longer. The vampire disrobed and he claimed the spot above his prey, mentally apologizing, trying to come up with reasons that he may tell him, even as he ran his hands, palms cold like a ghost against the skin of the other’s chest where he had pulled the buttons open one after another, letting his natural hunger rise, but a hunger that was beyond predatory…

~*~

Shizuo stirred. He moaned. His muddled brain tried to figure out where he was before he caught sight of a fragment of wing, a snippet of dark hair, a staring, blood-crying eye, conscious and unconscious until he felt it, the scrape of fangs, on the now-stiff machine between his legs.

“Izaya!”

The mortal tried to push himself up to get the other off but found himself too weak, enough that as soon as the vampire noticed that he had awakened, he was caught the same by his wrists as that mouth continued its work.

“N-No...Iza...aaah!”

Shizuo grasped onto the sheets in a feeble attempt to anchor himself as he felt tongue and lips and, yes, the occasional drag of teeth upon his hot, pulsing flesh. This was torment. He trembled and tossed, aroused in his dreams and now waking to its reality.

“What are you doing!”

Izaya took him deep. One full sweep that was too intense a suction it made it so unbearable. Shizuo felt an incredibly sudden invasion and burned, the first of such fine pleasures assaulting his senses and turning him mad, curled his toes and craned his neck back. He arched into his attacker, and came hard into his mouth without preamble, crying out rather beautifully as he spent for the first time and in between the lips of another _man_. But this was not the end.

Izaya slithered like a snake over his beloved, rubbing himself upon his warm, sweaty body and taking his fill of that heat, bending in to kiss the other but then wanting more than do just that. With the Hunter still delirious, Izaya ran his fingers through his conquest’s hair and pulled sharply. When Shizuo gasped, the vampire took advantage and covered that opened mouth with his own, transferring the seed that he had saved there with the roll of his tongue.

The other fought it, tried again to shove him away but still feeling weak and somewhat euphoric, succumbed to the connection, feeling utterly helpless, breath stilled.

Had he been drugged? No. It wasn’t that. No philter was potent enough to work on him.

Then the Hunter briefly remembered that smile, that deviously fascinating face, the sharply-dressed stranger who had accosted him in the forest and next thing he knew...the next thing...he was being fed his own release from the mouth of the last being he wanted to see.

“No...please…stop this Izaya…” pleaded Shizuo, some of his seed escaping in a trail that Izaya blankly licked off. Never have they been this close, and never had he been on the receiving end. And why were they in bed together in this state of undress? What was the vampire intending?

“Let me go!”

“ _No_ ,” came the cold response despite the colour and something close to living warmth the body above him was emanating.

The Hunter’s eyes widened, suddenly realising what had gone on. The vampire had been feeding on him!

“Izaya! Let go!”

He struggled, but for some reason, as he called upon his strength, he found it to decline his summons, thus it was quite easy to be once again ensnared. The vampire easily manipulated him into a position that was vulnerable, Izaya pinning him down, spreading his legs wider. That hand, it fell upon the Hunter’s organ and was stroking again, thumb playing, squeezing the tip for more of its primal juices. With a dazed expression, the vampire worked to arouse him once more.

“Don’t fight me,” and Izaya fixed him with a look that seemed to bring with it the unseen tendrils of the vampire’s control and power, the sort that was now attempting to reach deep into Shizuo’s mind and wrap it.

“NO!” the mortal shut his eyes tight, gritting his teeth, turning away even as he was assaulted below. But a probing finger, stabbing sharply into his unused entrance made him gasp and tear, the foreign digit worming its way in even as the flesh around it clamped and squeezed in an involuntary defense against the invasion.

Izaya watched his quarry hiss, face contorting into an undeniable expression of pain and suffering, tears slipping down the sides of his face, hair pasted to his forehead and neck as the vampire all but added a second finger in, a third.

This time, the mortal in his hands screamed, in terrible agony, the sting unbearable, as if the walls inside him were being shredded. Shizuo didn’t think it possible but he was, _is_ , getting _raped_ , the ravenous vampire above him relentless as he pushed through with this punishment. Still, he refused to meet those eyes, failed to see how they were actually imploring, even as Izaya’s hands were doing all sorts of weird things to his body, touches that made him even weaker beyond what he thought himself to be incapable of becoming.

“Look at me, Shizu-chan, I beg you!”

He didn’t want to hurt him, but there was desperation there. The vampire Izaya had long been needing this connection, this propinquity, imagining this body now writhing so licentiously in anguish beneath him to be a body he could hold in his arms for as long as eternity allowed it. He pushed it further. The hands that clasped helplessly unto him were _his_ Shizu-chan’s hands.

“I...ahng...haah...haaahh...zaya! Please! No!”

The devil found it, the root of all this mortal’s pleasure, and when the ball of the vampire’s fingers jabbed at it, Shizuo nearly passed out, a thin line of saliva escaping his lips as his cries reverberated into the dark expanse of the unseen room, spending himself a second time, and heavily, into the hand of his captor. But he did not faint. He fell back into the sheets, limp and exhausted from his efforts to get free. He couldn’t get free.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya took advantage of this moment of delicacy and _forced_ the Hunter to meet his stare. “ _Look_ at _me_.”

He left the other no choice, groggy from pleasure he has never experienced before, having abstained for the calling and feeling its first pains from a devil he swore to destroy. For the first time, as their eyes fused for a spell, the brave mortal became unsure.

“No…” he pleaded, this time feeling his limbs become heavy like the iron it was likened to be, as if an elixir of immobility had been injected into his veins and had stopped all its faculties. The vampire rose to straddle him, wings unfurling to show dominance, bare skin paler in the drenching candlelight as if the moon was the one kissing it.

Izaya looked him down. There was that petrified expression, the loss of words, the apparent difficulty for movement that was typical of the Spell Gift when it was performed. And for the first time, as the mortal lay still and was purely, _entirely_ , under his mercy, the vampire saw the trace of helpless tears. Shizuo understood.

“Shh...shh, Shizu-chan,” why did it hurt him even as he kissed those frightened, trembling lips? Even as he touched his cheek, running his palms there to soothe the other’s suffering? Even as he drew his lips over his own immoral fangs and showed them to the mortal.

This was the _ultimate_ transgression, the price, eternal damnation, not even love from the man he was to make his fledgling as surely Heiwajima Shizuo will forever curse him now. But it was something Izaya admitted to as his greed, and that he was willing to pay the price it took.

“Don’t worry. I’ll _take_ you _gently_ ,” he promised, but it served little to calm the other down. The expression on Shizuo’s face had now turned from dread to revulsion, to anger, to sharp, helpless loathing. In the end, it will continue like this...

_‘I WILL KILL YOU.’_

The words were stamped in his defiant eyes, the color of murky coffee in this darkness, as he promised the vampire he will have his head. Izaya was not fazed. He _will_ have him, and he chanted this thought over and over, as he lowered his face, kissing that neck, feeling Shizuo shiver as he licked at the flesh.

He found the vein as he turned Shizuo’s head aside, exposing the area around the deliciously pulsing nerve from which he will drink the life out of the only person he had ever felt so strongly for. Izaya felt doubly excited, the sensation a pounding intensity in his ears. He felt heady from the scent of blood and sweat, of sex and semen, and the utter unwillingness of his captive, his unforgiving tears as they burst anew.

“Such life. Such loveliness,” Izaya opened his mouth, the fangs sharp protrusions, as deadly as the blades and stakes that the Hunter himself used.

And in one sweep, in a motion of surgical precision, the vampire, despite his conquest’s suppressed protestations, broke through skin and muscle, tasting the curse of his beloved’s blood and all the secrets in memories that flooded along with it.

~*~

 _Lelio_ could hear the minute sounds even as he sat upon the rails of the bell tower, and the two had been beneath, under the earth, beyond even any other vampire’s hearing. He looked towards the direction of the coming sun, at the running light that seemed to draw closer with every minute, threatening to wipe all of him away.

A pity.

A pity he could not have stayed to watch that Orient Vampire take his fill, or even joined in the conversion of the hunting Priest into one of the damned. A pity he could have offered him, them, his more powerful blood. But there was still _tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow_ …He had all the time to make apprentices of them both. He will make them his newest select. As was his Creole Planter, his mother and all the other monsters he had given birth to.

“Aren’t you supposed to be going now?” there came a voice, sweet like honey, and the Ancient need not turn to know _who_ had joined him.

“Ah, the _dunpeals_ are here? I was not aware this was _your_ haunt...”

But he did turn to them, so he might see the beauteous young Prince named Thiomo and his consort-guardian Satire come to greet the morning. These were but another race of blood-feeders, this time hailing from the Asia of Old, and were of a different creation from the Queen.

They had a different mother, and _she_ was the sort that gave birth and procreated, the progenitor of a race of _vampires_ who could walk the mornings and felt and bred. They can neither be vanquished nor impeded, are stellars in their own rights, powerful that even the Children of the Millennia afforded them their respects. Although the race was now very much made up of merely a dazzling few.

“Your brother, Chalice, is he not with you?”

“He has...other prior matters to attend to…” replied the Prince, his dark hair animated by the a sudden breeze, as were his emerald eyes that caught the first straying beams of weak sunshine.

Thiomo was _too_ lovely, quite supple and young. He was a revenant who was born into one by flesh and blood, surviving the era of the Spanish Court and its galleons, living almost a few hundred years as a cursed human none could kill, before he found out what he truly was.

The Ancient could not help but reach a hand. Surprisingly, the _eternal boy_ allowed the other to run a loving palm upon his cheek, actually leaning in as a cat might, gracefully as he smiled at _him_. Satire’s face betrayed not any manner of conceivable jealousy, but his eyes did narrow in a dangerous way.

“You seem... _unalone_ …” the dunpeal Prince noticed the two other presences under them. “New pets?”

At that even Satire quirked a brow as the Wolf-killer laughed, a mirror image of the French aristocrat in the days of his youth, some royal himself, a slayer of beasts in the cold, before he became a part of the questing Undead.

“No…” replied Lelio, loving how a warmth now touched his face. Thiomo’s hand, the hand of sunlight, had found itself there. “My _new_ lovers.”


End file.
